10 comments/ 18616 views/ 0 favorites Resolution By: PattyMarie This is the third part of a trilogy by three different authors. If you haven't read Torn by patricia51 and A Typical Day by Chagrined this won't mean much to you. They are both worth the read. Consider these two stories as the prolog. * While we attend church regularly, I'll admit to not being a praying man, but I prayed laying in bed that night. "God, help me, help us. I don't understand this. I don't know what to do. All I know is that I don't want to lose my wife; I don't want our children to suffer a divorce. God, what ever miracle you can pull off show her, show me, show us the way we should go. ... God help me... help us. I awoke groggy in the morning. I didn't sleep well after her revelation the night before. Then there was the dream that kept waking me in the night. It was a reoccurring dream. There, on our bed was my wife and another woman. My wife was laying on her back, nude, except for garter belt and stockings. Between her legs the other woman knelt, her long hair obscuring her face as she pleasured my wife with her mouth. She was wearing diaphanous blue baby-doll pajama that barely covered her skinny buttocks. My wife was wracked with the violence of her climax. As it subsided, the woman crawled up her body and they embraced and soon she began to grind her hips into my wife's crotch as my wife smiled and kissed her, wrapping her legs around her to give her better access. It was at that point I always woke up. What was disconcerting about the whole thing was the other woman. There was something familiar about her, like I should know her. It was the dream that woke me as the first rays of the sun turned the dawn gray. I was drenched in sweat and highly aroused. I looked over at Erica's sleeping form. I knew that after what I had learned yesterday, there would be no relief there. I had denied the arousal three times though the night but this time I had to do something. I quietly got out of bed and headed for the bathroom and a shower. A cold shower wouldn't do, not after being aroused by that damned dream all night. It was a hot shower and heavy stroking my swollen, throbbing member. I stood leaning against the wall with the water cascading over me as I recovered from what had to be the strongest climax to have come from self-pleasuring ever. It took some time for me to recover. What the hell was with that dream and why the hell was I so aroused that I had to pleasure myself? OK, OK, so I'm like most guys and a little lesbian action is arousing, but not when one of them is your wife. That's just wrong. When I had dried, I wrapped myself in a towel and came back to the bedroom. Erica had gotten up while I was in the shower and was gone. I wasn't sure where. Did she get dressed and leave? Or is she just in the kitchen? Erica was just pouring coffee when I got to the kitchen. She sugared the first cup and sat it on the table near the spot where I normally sat. She flashed a nervous smile and fixed a second cup the way she liked it. We sat at the table in awkward silence. I'm not really a morning person and neither is Erica. It usually takes several cups of coffee to make us sociable, but there's usually some conversation, if only to complain about something. Today it could be not being able to sleep, waking up too early or any number of things. But still, we just sat not looking at each other. Two cups of coffee later, Erica opened the fridge and said, "Eggs?" without looking at me. "Yeah," I replied. A few minutes later, she sat breakfast in front of me and we ate in silence. She would glance at me as I ate. I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eye. Instead, I just ate and stared out the window watching the day come alive. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, flowers were opening... all was right with the world. All except my marriage. My wife of fifteen years didn't want me sexually anymore; she wanted a woman. Apparently any woman. It's not like she "fell in love" with a woman. It's more like she was in love with the idea of having a woman. What the hell! How does a woman wake up one day and decide she's a lesbian? OK, bi that I could understand. Not condone acting out on it but I could understand how she might realize she also found women attractive as well as men. But Erica... well, our sex life had been pretty good. I mean either I had been able to bring her off or she could have given Meg Ryan a run for her money in "When Harry Met Sally." But I mean really... for fifteen years? No, I refused to believe that. If she'd been faking, then why would she have instigated sex all those times? I mean, I could see her faking it if she just responded to when I wanted something, but for her to cuddle up to me and get me interested when I hadn't really been thinking about it? No, she had to have liked it. Oh God? What do I do? I couldn't just sit there. I went to the garage and started cleaning out the junk that had been accumulating for years. How ironic, I thought to myself. Erica's been after me to clean out the garage for years and now she's become a lesbian I'm doing it without being asked... Then I laughed to myself. It was just too far fetched that she had done all this to manipulate me into cleaning the garage. No, I just needed to do something to maintain my sanity. It wasn't that I abhorred her. To the contrary. I loved her. It just hurt too much to know that when she looked at me, she didn't want me the way I wanted her. I poured myself into my work. I soon filled the back of the pickup with junk and pulled the utility trailer from beside the house, hooked it up and filled it as well. Then Erica opened the garage door and hollered, "Lunch," as I was securing the tarps on my load. She had made tuna salad sandwiches and some soup. I muttered, "Thanks." "The garage looks good," she replied. I nodded and kept eating. As I finished, I took my dishes to the sink and headed out the garage door. "I'm going to the dump." "I'll go get the kids," I heard as I closed the door. On the way back from the dump, I did an uncharacteristic thing. I stopped for a beer. I wasn't so much that I wanted a beer, I just didn't want to go home. When I ordered the second, the bartender wanted some conversation. "You got your Powerball ticket? There wasn't a winner on Wednesday and the jackpot's $279 million." I chuckled. I was a bit surprised with what I had been brooding over that I could even smile. "No. What is it? 475 million to one against winning?" "That's if you buy a ticket," he said. "Huh?" "Odds of winning are 475 million to one if you buy a ticket. The odds against winning are considerably higher if you don't," he smiled. "Ah, ... yeah," I said acknowledging the obvious. "You ought to buy a ticket, man. It's only a buck and what the heck. You might get lucky. A dollar won't break you and it just might make you." "I wouldn't even know how to do it," I told him. "It's easy. Want me to show you?" What the hell, it's only a dollar. "OK, go for it. I can afford a dollar." I followed him to the machine and watched. He fed the dollar into the machine and when it lit up, he punched the Powerball button followed by a series of buttons and finally the big "print ticket" button. "There," he said. "Now, if that's the winner, don't forget me. I should get 10%, don't you think?" He was smiling. "OK," I told him, "and when it loses, I'll stop by and collect a dime." I folded the ticket into my wallet and went back to the bar to drink my beer and the bartender filled my ears with stories of how people had won the lottery playing just the way I had. I resisted the urge to buy a third beer and stay to get good and drunk. Instead, I went home. God, let the kids be there, I prayed. I just didn't want to be alone with Erica. After putting the trailer away, I went into the kitchen and found the coffee on. I slugged down a cup as quickly as I could and poured another. Finally, I heard Karen ragging at her brother. I breathed easier as I went in to settle the dispute. It was nothing really; they didn't need my intervention. But I was glad to interact with them and glad that I shut off my episode in the bar at two beers. I looked around for Erica and spotted her out in the backyard tending her garden. God she looked hot. She was wearing shorts and a halter top. I found tears welling up in my eyes as thought about how before her revelation I used to send the kids on an errand and go out back to see if I could seduce her back inside. Alas, that's not likely to ever happen again, not without being rebuffed. Especially now. It was late in the afternoon and I knew that Erica would soon be in the kitchen preparing dinner. To spite how she had been feeling for this last year she always was a good mother and homemaker. I couldn't fault her in that area at all. There had always been a division of labor in our house she took care of the home front and I brought home the bacon. Not that I was adverse to doing any house work, after all, she did have a job. Though she saw to it that her hours were such that she could be home by the time the kids got home from school and she always had dinner on the table when I got in. She never complained about it and I only thought it fair to pitch in when I could anticipate what help she needed. Some of the chores were exclusively mine, like cleaning the ceiling fans and washing windows inside and out. ("I don't do windows," she had told me when we got married. So I do them; no complaint.) God we've got to get through this. We've got to come to a resolution. We did our best to keep things on an even keel the rest of the weekend. Both of us smiled a lot and tried our best to be pleasant, but underneath there was that uncomfortable air. Come Monday morning it was things as usual, or as close as could be. All week long we kept up the pretense that all was good. Through the week no mention was made of her letter or what it could mean to our relationship, but I thought of little else. I tried to avoid being alone with her as much as I could. When ever it was unavoidable, it was awkward. Usually, I'd find something to do, in another room if possible. I always let her go to bed first and didn't go in myself until I was sure that she was likely asleep. But the inevitable happened Saturday afternoon. The kids were both off with friends and Erica came home early from shopping. I started to go out to the garage, though I didn't have anything to do out there. But then I decided that it was time to talk about the biggest concern that I had. "Erica, can we talk about our future and keep it civil?" I asked her. She looked up at me with what I thought was a tinge of fear in her eyes and nodded. I got a cup of coffee and held a cup up toward her with a questioning look. She shook her head no. I sat at the kitchen table and motioned for her to sit and she did. I mustered up my courage. "The one thing I'm really worried about in all this is the kids," I said, avoiding actually say what "this" was. "I'd like to ask a favor of you and in return I'll make a promise," I continued, then paused to see if she was following me. I could still see the fear in her eyes, but she gave a slight nod, knowing that I wasn't through yet. "I know that both Jimmy and Karen are close to you. I had hoped that Jimmy and I would bond a little better, but he's not exactly the outdoors type and I am, so everything I thought I'd share with him, the fishing, the hunting, just didn't appeal to him. Don't get me wrong, he's a great kid and I love him, we're just not close like you two are... I'm fine with that and it's important for the kids to keep that connection." I was struggling with what I wanted to say. Thank God Erica just sat and waited for me to spit it out. "Even if the worst should come to pass, I want the kids to maintain that connection to you. I'm asking that since Jimmy has two years 'til high school graduation and going off to college and Karen will be just a year behind him... please try, just try to hold the family together until then, OK? If things get hinky I'll go find some bar slut and move in with her and you can blame me and say that I drove you to women. It'll be the perfect excuse you loved me and trusted me and I betrayed that trust and now you can't trust men, so you've gone over to women. That'll be a last resort thing. I really want you to hang on until the kids go to college. I'll do what ever I can to help you hang. Just let me know... what ever... I mean that." Erica began to cry. I didn't know what to do. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, but I just needed to ask you to consider the kids. I didn't mean to be cruel. Please, keep me informed as to how you're doing. I really want to be there for you. I can't condone you acting out on this, but, well, if you really are... lesbian, then I guess it's only a matter of time until you need to fulfill the desires." "No, Jim," Erica said, "I'm not hurt, I'm relieved. I thought you were going to give me an ultimatum, and tell me to either give it up or move out. I never thought you'd be so supportive. I will. I will try to hold off for the kids to get out of the house. God I love you. I just wish there was some way I could go back... some way I could find you sexually attractive in the same way I used to. God help me, I do." She broke down crying again. It was an awkward moment, but I did love her. I wasn't sure of how she'd take it, but I went to her and held her in my arms. To my surprise, she hugged me back and cried on my shoulder. I found myself crying softly as well. After a time she began to calm down. "Just hang in Erica, we'll work this out somehow," I told her, hoping against hope it was true, though I couldn't see how. "Can we really, Jim? Can we?" "Yes," I said trying to sound confident and lying through my teeth. I had to give her hope if she was going to fulfill her promise to hang onto the marriage until the kids went off to school. Really in my mind, I was sure that after both kids were gone, we'd split up over this. I hugged her tighter and cried, mourning the loss of my marriage. Even now I knew we were married in name only and it would be that way for the sake of the kids for two or maybe three years and then... well then it wouldn't be... any longer. Resolution I put a hand to her cheek and leaned over and kissed her forehead. I didn't want to turn her off by doing anything traditional in the way a man and a woman might react after such an event. Instead, I just put a hand on her hip and rubbed in a provocative way. As I moved my hand up her side, toward her breast, she closed her eyes. I know she was pretending it was a woman's hand, but I refused to think about it. I was determined to pleasure my wife in much the same way she had done for me... an act of love. Things moved in a predictable way and soon I was doing for her what she had done for me. I worked hard at it I was determined to give as good as I got. I don't know if it was the long period of absence or if I really did do better than usual, but she seemed to get off on it a whole lot more then before. Before she got up, she gave me an affectionate hug and kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, I needed that," she said. "Mind if I shower first?" she continued as she headed for the bathroom. I didn't mind. I really needed a short nap anyway. And so that became our Saturday ritual. There was still the abstinence during the week, but Saturday we "made love" ... albeit not in the traditional manner. Over the months that followed, my love for her grew and it was almost as if she'd never written the letter... almost. On the outside, we were the perfect couple. We smiled, we talked, we seldom fought, we did all the things husbands and wives ought to do... on the outside. But on the inside, there was still that letter and if I could have forgotten it, there was that damned recurring dream... that damned blonde who pleasured my wife in my dreams. Resolution "God I hope not. I'd die if anyone else noticed." "Not to worry. What say we get up and see if we can coax the kids out of bed with the smell of breakfast cooking." Resolution Before sitting she had removed her blazer; it was a fine wool, more expensive than she could normally afford, but she had gotten it on clearance at the end of last season, before the separation. She wore it tonight because it was her favorite, she loved the way it held her, loved the aura she felt as she wore it over the plain white blouse, loved the rich autumnal brown, just a hint of green, and the way it made her skin glow, set off her blonde hair. And she wanted him to see her in it; she had not had the opportunity to wear it last fall for it was already too cold, and by springtime, as the heavier coats were put aside, she was already alone. No, not alone precisely. Apart from him. And now she sat across from him in the restaurant, in a quiet back corner where the crowd noise and background music didn't reach, but neither did the heat, at least not any longer. It had felt warmer when they had been seated, but maybe, she thought, it had been her that had been warmer. At any rate she regretted removing the blazer, knowing full well that if she wore it sitting for the entire evening it would crease, and shatter the casual elegance of the garment. Perhaps she could just drape it over her shoulders, and she waited for the proper moment, a break in his long-winded list of his feelings and observations of their time together since their separation. As soon as that unkind opinion of his monologue formed she admonished herself. It wasn't his fault he suddenly discovered emotions and feeling. It seemed in retrospect to have been almost inevitable that he would, in response to their parting, develop something in reaction, or uncover the latent ones that had eluded him so well. During their marriage emotions and feeling had been her responsibility; she had expressed for both of them; felt love for two, passion for two, empathy for two, anger for two. At the start she had expressed for them both in an effort to extrude his; later as retribution. The more he withheld, the more she showed, and vice versa, in a downward spiral. He droned on, and she smiled lightly, proud but melancholic to see the progress in him, to see the growth he had accomplished, the hint of what could have been. But under it all, she heard the unspoken words, saw the perspective of leanings he had encountered; it remained about him, not them. In an academic way it was interesting to see him get in touch with himself, but the change did not touch her. Maybe one day there would be hope for him, that he would complete the half person he was, and long to be whole with another, to allow another to person to complete him. But he gave no hint that he felt a yearning for such growth, or even the acknowledgement that such development might exist. She smiled wanly, wondering how he saw her expression, and knew as soon as she thought that he was far too immersed in presenting his position to recognize an honest emotional response from a living human being. And hadn't that been the issue all along? Or was she imposing that judgment of him from before, on this him, now? Was she being fair and objective? Could she be? Sure, she bore resentment over the separation. No, that wasn't true either. For her, the separation had been better than easy, it had been a step toward fulfillment, to becoming whole. No, it had been the months before the separation that had been hardest, as she struggled vainly to elicit any emotional response from him. Finally tired of carrying the weight for both of them, tired of the unresponsive nature, the absence of emotion, she could, after the agreement to separate, put down his portion of the relationship, and begin to carry only her own, in the direction she wanted, unencumbered to her own fulfillment. It had been a breath of fresh air when they finally agreed to separate. Agreed. She blew out a thin breath with her smile. That would have required participation from both of them. Decision would be more accurate. She had decided; it was time. He took the news, emotionless and unresponsive, as he had taken all her attempts and challenges to extract some reaction from him. She wanted the love that had seemed so close, so possible when they dated and married, she wanted the understanding and connection that had once accompanied their conversations. She wanted the closeness that their intimacy had brushed against, but seemingly never embraced. But they did not come, no matter how she tried to expose them. That potential had been there, when they met and dated. She saw them, or rather, the promise of them, and committed to him for the possibility of what they might one day be, sure of her ability to draw them out. Even at the beginning of the marriage she saw them, an image of something just below the surface of a pond, obscured but visible through her own reflection on the surface. So close to coming out, to breaking through. But any attempt to reach for it disturbed the surface, and the image disappeared from view. And when the love, the companionship and closeness did not come, she worked towards other emotions, any emotions. Anger. Resentment. Hostility. Disdain. Where once she struggled to unsuccessfully provoke a loving reaction from him, needing the return and feeling for them both, she now turned to instigation and insolence. In her frustrated efforts, instead of trying to please him she tried to anger him. She ignored him, disregarded him. Defied him. Shamed him. Betrayed him. She went out, stayed out. She looked at other men, in front of him, spoke of them, but got no reaction. She pursued them. The more he did not get angry, the more anger she felt towards him. But still she failed, and every attempt resulted only in her increasing hostility towards him; like love, she felt it for them both. Each attempt pushed harder, each time she failed, her anger increased, then her disdain, and finally her hatred. Not just against him, but against herself; she found herself feeling for herself what she wanted him to feel for her. Each step determined to make him react, each failed, each one exceeded by the next. She dated men. She did not hide it. She flaunted it, brought them home, took them to their bed, in front of him. She brought home more men, then several men. She brought home women. Then men and women. Groups. Debased herself in front of him. Allowed herself to be abused, then demanded abuse. When even that fell short, she pulled the plug. She told him they were separating. She packed, and she left. And still she got no reaction. She did not miss him, had not missed him. In the nine months apart she had pursued her own needs, lived for herself. She was making up for lost time, years that she had devoted to him, years wasted trying to find the good, then desperate to incite the bad. She did not hate him for it any more; she felt nothing, it was who he was. She had resigned herself to the fact that she had tried to do the impossible, and failed, and forged ahead to something new. She was whimsical now, seeing him, at life's cruel irony; the door she had beaten herself against for six years had opened as soon as she stepped away. In separation, even she had gained understanding and perspective. And now here he was, feeling and emoting, as if human, almost the person she had thought she had once wanted. She thought she could see the man she had fallen for. On closer inspection she realized it was an illusion; what she saw was the man she had thought the man she had fallen for would one day become. She grimaced at the concept; the idea was more complex than her life had become. But for all her failed efforts and her wasted, soiled and ruined emotions, there was something of that man she had once imagined now sitting across from her. Not the one who she thought he would be. But maybe close enough that he could play that man in a movie. And as much as his revelations were all about him, the emotions looked good on him, as she had always hoped they would. He had issues, clearly. He was seeking help, and she silently wished him the best. She did not know what the conclusion would be at the end of his story; he seemed bent on detailing every revelation, as though he had invented emotions, and not just discovered his own. What she did know was that his conclusion mattered little, if at all. There would be no reconciliation, no trying again. She had tried. Hard. She had failed. She had moved on, she would not go back. And since moving on she had found not what she thought she wanted, not what she was looking for, but what she had needed, and it had come from an unexpected direction. She had arranged this date on the night she left, thinking then, still somewhat innocently, that the time apart would make him realize what he had not done, and would allow her to forget all she had done. Imagine. Getting back together. So sorry, dear, for being an unfeeling automaton, for holding you away and freezing you out. My Mommy didn't hug me enough, or something. Oh yes, me too, dear, sorry for the cuckolding, and the orgies in our house, and fucking all those cocks in front of you like that. A bit immature, but I was desperate, you see. Forgiven? Yeah right. He seemed to be winding down, which was good. She was still chilly, and interruption be damned, she lifted her blazer and slipped it over her shoulders. He never even broke his stride, just barreled merrily along, as absorbed in having some emotions as he'd been in having none. There was no inquiry as to whether she was cold or getting ready to leave; he assumed she was there to hear him, as he had always assumed she would love him and stay with him, regardless of his actions, or lack thereof. At some point he would wrap up. She owed it to him to let him finish. And while the end result of their discussion tonight was preordained, there were two things she hoped for. First, that he would conclude that they divorce amicably, as she had already done. It would make it so much simpler. She had already decided as such, and if he came to the same conclusion it would make things so much simpler, so much easier. But it would be divorce, there was no other option. The only remaining variable was whether he wanted to or not, and if not, how ugly would it be. Please, she thought, let him have the sense to see this marriage done. And the second thing she hoped for was that he not ask what she is doing now, was she seeing anyone, was she happy. Not that she couldn't answer, or wasn't proud of what she was doing now. She was with a wonderful man now; a man who knew where she was tonight, understood why she had to be here, and that the result would be divorce. A man who showed her the emotions she needed to feel, to experience, to return. A man who understood her pride in their relationship. In fact, she was under strict instructions that if her estranged husband asked that question, she must answer him, completely and in detail. It wasn't that she was embarrassed or ashamed of what she had become; not at all. But to her mind he was not entitled to the knowledge. What had he ever done to share in her reward? Sure, he had played a role in their meeting, but he was a bystander, at best, a dramatic device, stage dressing, a mere prop. He had not earned the right to share in her happiness. He had done nothing. He should get nothing. But if he asked, she would tell; Karl had ordered her to do so, to tell him all. And though he was not here with her, waiting at home for her certain return, she would obey as though he watched her. She would not defy him, and she would certainly not deceive him. If asked she would dutifully raise her head and jut her chin proudly. And she would tell him yes, actually, I am very happy, wonderfully happy. And she would explain, in plain and simple terms and a clear voice, how her life had changed. She had discovered her true nature and happiness by accident during that last year, as their marriage crumbled around her and she had descended into her maelstrom of debauchery. Love had failed; she had tried to incite jealousy and failed, then anger. Flirting first, then teasing, then dating and staying out. She had escalated her efforts, trying to get a reaction from him, finally bringing her lovers home, fucking them in front of him to her increasing frustration at his lack of reaction. The harder she pushed, the more he withheld. One lover, at first; then more than one, letting them take her together, in front of him. Later, a group of men. They used her, debased her. She took their cocks in all her holes, let them cum on her, in her face. She sucked them after they fucked her. Took them in her ass as she screamed. Later it was larger groups, and even women. She had sucked cum from a pussy, from an ass; showed him, flaunted her debauchery, to no effect. Every few days she pushed the envelope, crazed by her obsession to extract a reaction from him. She sought more; each group she met introduced her to others, until the night she brought home three women, late, when she knew he would be in bed already. She took them to their bedroom, and practically on top of him, allowed them to abuse her in spectacular ways. All the while he lay there, awake and impassionate, his vacant eyes watching as the women tormented her, tortured her. She licked their cunts on command, tongued their assholes. Her nipples pulled and twisted. She sucked a strap-on dildo fresh from her own ass. They fisted her, punching into her stretched cunt until she screamed in pain and ecstasy. They pissed on her, made her drink their urine, then held her legs up and forced her to piss into her own mouth. One of those women, Sarah, a tall, muscular woman, had pulled her aside when the spectacle was over. "I don't know what you're doing here," she'd said, "but I know that women are not your thing, I can see that. But you really enjoy the debasement and humiliation. I know a guy," she had continued, and told her about Karl. She had introduced them, brought her to Karl, offered her to him. And she knew, almost immediately, that she had found her place, her fulfillment. In his face she had seen it, from the beginning. Right there, in front of Sarah, he had taken her, pushed her limits, abused and punished her, humiliated her. Commanded her. But she felt it, in her debasement that night, the reciprocation she had sought for so long. He reacted, loved her for her submission. He returned her emotion. He took, and she gave, and he recognized and appreciated her efforts and devotion. She had grown to want the abuse, the humiliation, to need it, and Karl gave it to her. All she had done out of anger at her husband she did now out of devotion, but at Karl's commands, and he filled the emotional chasm inside her with appreciation for her submission. He abused her, let others abuse her. He spanked and whipped her, marked her as his own. Humiliated her; debased her. And she loved him for it, for giving her what she wanted, needed, and for the love and concern and pampering he bestowed on her in appreciation for her obedience. She lost herself briefly in the musings of her servitude and devotion. Karl was her life, had given her life. Her estranged husband prattled on as she reflected, what was his name again? She could not recall; Karl was everything. He led her to the trough of abuse she so needed, bade her eat, gave her sustenance, and whispered soft encouragement at her gluttony, harsh criticism when he felt she fed too lightly, relief and appreciation when she was done, and punishment when she disappointed him. All for her, for her needs, and she served him to fulfill herself. She found herself eager to have the night end, for better or worse. She was free of him, this shallow sham of a man who had nearly trapped her into a life empty of emotion and response. If he agreed, fine. If not, she would return to Karl, tell him of her failure, and revel in the delicious attention he would devote to her punishment. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of the pain, the stretching, the plugs he would stuff inside her. His fist, crammed into her. Her screams as she suffered and let loose her splashing orgasm. She felt herself become wet, as Karl had said she would, and recalled his instructions. "You will tell it all, in detail, my Pet," he had told her. "But only if he is clever enough to ask. He does not deserve the likes of you, never did, but if he is curious enough to ask you will tell him everything." She felt a shudder as she recalled the whispered instructions, Karl's voice impaling her head as his cock penetrated her cunt, HIS cunt. "If he tries to stop you, you will insist, demand that he listen. You will not whisper, or hang your head; you will hold yourself proud and high, unashamed of the wonder you have become." His cock had slammed into her, stroking the tender flesh between her legs, still sore from the beating he had delivered to her the night before, at the hands of another, slapping her tender cunt until she came, sqirting and screaming in delight. "As you speak the words you will be excited; you cannot stop it. This cunt, MY cunt, will be wet and open between your legs as you tell him what you do, how good it is, how you enjoy it." She'd heard him grunt, felt his pulses as he had filled her, staring into her eyes. "And you will show him. As you finish your tale, you will spread these lovely legs for him at the table, and shove your hand inside, your whole hand. You will look at him, make him watch," He had pulled his cock from her cunt, then, and released the clamps at her nipples, the tormenting rush of blood spurring her orgasm. "And you will show him your hand, wet with your cunt and my cum. You will show him your life, and as he stares at you, eyes wide with horror and mouth open in fascination, you will smear your delicacy on his face. And then you will leave, and return here, to me." Her eyes closed, remembering, and then she was startled by sudden silence. He had stopped talking, at last. She opened her eyes again to see him looking at her. "I said, I think we should get a divorce." Yes, she thought, yes, we should. I never want to see you again, you useless, denying bastard. She trembled a little, thinking her night over, and agreed. He smiled weakly, politely, as though he had learned a trick, and she tried to return it. Reaching for her purse, her legs coiled to spring her from her chair, and she began to voice her exit. "What about you?" he asked suddenly, and her legs froze in mid-rise, and then she relaxed, and re-settled herself into the seat. "I guess I kind of monopolized the conversation," he smiled, as though a moment of good nature might redeem him. "Maybe," was all she managed, and she sat upright in her chair, coming fully erect in preparation. Her elegant neck, embraced by the choker, extended her head high. She inhaled, and waited. He watched her, then asked naively, "So, what have you been up to?" Resolution Loophole Standing in the lobby of the somewhat decrepit Moore Hotel in downtown Seattle, Josie wondered if it was really necessary to rent a hotel room. Sure, it was New Year's Eve, and sure she had been planning this big night out with her best friends for weeks, but renting a bed seemed like an invitation to trouble. Lately she'd noticed herself getting wilder, more reckless. She had been...impulsive with a few men at work and had promised herself she'd just stick with the girls tonight. In fact, she planned to make a midnight resolution to keep out of supply closets with strange men. Or at least severely limit the frequency. But on New Year's Eve heavy drinking was practically required, and as the tide of alcohol came in, her best intentions were likely to be swept out to sea. Was a hotel room tempting fate? No, she had resolve. She had self-control. She had her best friends to keep her in check. In fact, maybe she could get Sarah or Maureen to stay with her, make it a sleep over. Approaching the counter, she laid down her credit card for a standard room. The desk attendant apologized that the elevator was down and that she would need to take the stairs to the third floor. Josie decided to run up to drop off her overnight bag and freshen up. The room bordered on shabby but had a few nice antique-y features like a claw foot tub and a leather wrapped headboard that made the bed seem sort of majestic. Larger than the queen size it was supposed to be. Lying down for a second, Josie started up at the water stained ceiling. She saw the shape of an old fashioned telephone and another blob that looked like a tulip. It felt strange to be alone, away from the clamoring of her family. She'd been deep in mommy mode through flu season and felt like a shuttle van driver with all the activities her kids were signed up for. A break, a much needed break from the madness, was finally happening. A night to recapture her sense of self. Hallelujah. Not a moment later her phone buzzed. It was Maureen. "Sorry, babe, can't make it tonight. My husband's mother just called from the hospital, she's having chest pains. Dave is going to spend the night with her, so I'm home with the wee ones." Josie understood, of course. But it was still a bummer. They vowed to try again next month. Due to meet Sarah in fifteen, Josie got up to make repairs to her make up after a trot through the rain. She was rocking some new boots -- these black, sort of equestrian looking numbers that she paired with some tight black pants. Up top she decided to go glam and switched her oversized sweater for a gold sequined butterfly top that bared one shoulder. She belted it tightly at the smallest part of her waist. Appraising the look in the mirror, she thought it was pretty sharp. Maybe she didn't look twenty anymore, but at least she could clean up nice occasionally. The look was completed with a smoky eye and bedroom hair and some pink gloss on her lips. And, to add a touch of class, a silver plastic crown with 2011 spelled across it in pink glitter. Downstairs she found her friend waiting inside the hotel dive bar. Maybe she shouldn't have wasted time upstairs, because it seemed like Sarah had gotten a hell of a head start on her at the bar. "Jo!" Sarah yelled over the jukebox, "Come over here! Meet, wait, was' your name again?" A tall man with long black hair next to her replied, "Snake oil". Sara giggled, her low cut dress barely containing her cleavage. "Thas' right! But your mama didn't give you that name. What does your family call you?" "Usually collect from jail," the man quipped. Sarah laughed like this was hilarious. Josie sat down and talked to her friend for a while. The last bastion of single life in the city, Sarah told her that one of the firm partners had taken everyone out for happy hour. Effectively, she'd been celebrating new year's since three-thirty. "We were at one of those fancy cocktail lounges," she sneered, "an' all the execs were trying to get in my pantyhose. I was glad we were comin' here instead, you know? I like real people who don't fuck on commission." She laughed and laughed, almost knocking herself off her stool. Josie was rapidly seeing her night out go down the tubes. It looked more like she'd be taking care of dear Sarah, instead. Probably cleaning up something disgusting by the time it was all said and done. Josie thought she might be less annoyed by her friend if she had a few drinks herself and rapidly downed two Long Island Ice Teas. Good stuff, deceptively smooth going down. She went to the restroom and came back to Sarah giving Snake oil a lap dance. She peeled her friend from his leather clad jock and ushered her toward a booth where they would have more privacy. Snake oil glowered at them from across the bar. "We should invite him over here," slurred Sarah. "He's real interesting. Works for the Gates Foundation." Josie took in his biker apparel and long black hair that hinted at a Native American ancestry. She also took in the missing tooth and the neck tattoo. "Hmmm, not so sure about that." Part of her wanted to back off, let Sarah have a fling with the grungy guy if she wanted to. There was something to be said for dirty, drunken sex. On the other hand...there was the girl code to think of. Sarah might be a little lonely tonight, but it was probably because her long term boyfriend had been out of the country for almost two months. At least, she hoped that was why she was intervening. It could be she was just in cock block mode and was forcing it on Sarah, too. But Sarah was too drunk to make any decisions about her vagina tonight. And soon her wasted friend was blubbering incoherently about her a botched eyebrow wax and the dreadful haircut repercussions. "I like your bangs," Josie said loyally. Over a few more Long Island's, they traded salacious sex stories. Since Sarah was obliterated anyway, Josie even confided her recent shameful behavior with the elevator repair man. Sarah was shocked. And titillated. Before the clock struck ten, it was clear that Sarah was turning into a pumpkin. Her eyes were drooping and she was listing sideways. Even blowing a paper kazoo in her face repeatedly didn't snap her out of her trance. "Do you want to sleep in my room?" she asked her friend, helping her find her coat and umbrella under the table. Sarah, who really was very organized, blearily checked her planner and saw that she had a fireplace cleaning scheduled at her condo in the morning. "I have to be there to let them in." Josie summoned a cab and tucked her friend inside. "Thanks for the good time," she murmured, slipping the cabbie an extra twenty to deposit her friend into the hands of her doorman unscathed. Oh, jeez, it was so early. She had assumed she would be watching the Space Needle fireworks show with her besties, but that plan had obviously fizzled. Josie found herself considering downloading a book on her Kindle and reading until she felt tired. But no, that would be pathetic. Surely there was something between a whore and a nun she could aspire to be. She could make her own fun. Strike up a conversation with someone new. She travelled a few blocks into Beltown and found a martini bar. Usually Josie was a wine girl, but she decided to stick with the hard stuff tonight. She had just plopped down at an open bar stool when the seat next to her swiveled and a nice looking young woman looked at her nervously. "Are you...Sheila?" she asked tentatively. Her cute little pixie face would not have been out of place in a middle school gymnasium. "Oh, no. I'm Josie. Sorry, were you saving this seat for someone?" The woman chewed on her lower lip. "No, not exactly. I thought I was meeting someone, but I guess they didn't show. She was supposed to be here over an hour ago." "That's lame," said Josie, feeling uninhibited by her Long Island buzz. "My night didn't go as planned either, but I'm determined to make it to midnight. We can hang, if you want." The woman considered that and smiled a little. "Thanks. I made all these elaborate arrangements for a night out, I'd like to have a little fun." "Me, too!" squealed Josie. "Sounds like we are in the exact same boat! It's fate that we met!" Soon she and Meg were laughing like old friends. They started drinking blackberry mojitos and shared an appetizer that was hardly recognizable through the fancy garnish. Josie held two radishes carved like roses up to her nipples and batted her eyelashes at a man through the window. He paused, smiled, and moved on. "Were you flirting with that guy?" Meg asked. "No. I don't know. I've been kind of sexually insatiable lately. Things turn me on all the sudden that never used to." Meg eagerly chimed in, "Oh my God, me too! I was raised ultra conservatively and didn't really understand what got me hot until last year. When I realized it wasn't my husband." Josie winced, "That's rough. Still married?" Meg shook her head, "No. He didn't want to try the stuff I was interested in. He wanted good old missionary-style baby-making. I decided to cut my losses. Still, even with my freedom, it's been hard to, you know, initiate." Josie figured she'd been lucky. Each of the sexual experiences she'd collected lately had been at the hands of commanding men. All she had to do was submit. Meg looked shy, with light brown shoulder length hair and a slender build. Probably men wouldn't see her as a candidate for sexual experimentation. Even in her too snug black dress she looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, liquor and a wing-woman is a good first step," Josie replied, clinking glasses. "I can be Sheila and help you hook up." Meg ducked her head, fumbling with her purse a bit. "Ah, Sheila was the hook-up." Surprised, Josie looked at her new friend inquiringly. "Oh, are you gay? Sorry, I didn't pick up on that. Not that it matters, of course, I'm cool with it." Oh man, she was babbling. Meg just didn't give off the lesbian vibe. She seemed like a Sunday school teacher, more than anything. "Oh, I'm not. Not really. Just curious. Bi-curious." Meg was warming up to the subject, "I guess most people tried it in college, but I was busy trying to please my parents and then my husband. I'm not exactly sure what pleases me." "I get that," assured Josie. Shy again, Meg glanced at her. "Is this weird? Am I confiding too much?" "No, this is good. I wonder if this happens to all women, they get a little older and realize that what they want isn't what they've been led to believe. What made you want to experiment with women? Or was this Sheila a special case?" "Actually, I have no idea what she looks like," Meg took another sip of her drink and decided to spill the beans. "This is embarrassing...but I actually contacted her through Craigslist. Casual encounters." "No WAY," exclaimed Josie. "Is she a prostitute?" "I don't know. Maybe. I just wanted to explore a little. There is this woman at work...I'm kind of into her. She's kind of butch and, I don't know why, but I'm totally into her. The thing is, she doesn't want a fling. She wants something long term. But how can I even think about that if I don't know how I feel about vaginas in general? "You don't know how you feel about vaginas?" Josie asked, amused. "Well, I don't have much of a relationship with mine. I mean, I clean it, but I'm not really a masturbator. I've never touched another woman's boob, let alone her hoo-ha. So I went online and found flaky Sheila who said she'd be into a little whatever." Suddenly, Meg got teary. "It took me weeks to get the courage to go through with it. Maybe I should just scrap the plan. It was stupid." "It wasn't stupid," Josie returned fiercely. "I think it was a very sensible plan. Of course you can't dive into a lesbian relationship with doing some muff diving ahead of time." Oh, that was smooth. But Meg wasn't offended. She laughed. "I'm not sure I'm ready for the full one experience. I was hoping for some lez101. Maybe just kissing. I don't know. It doesn't matter now, anyway." Josie made a decision. "You know what, you can kiss me." Actually, this was a wonderful resolution loophole. "You don't want me to kiss you!" Meg objected. "You're just taking pity on me." "No, really, we should. It's almost midnight, anyway. I've never done anything with a woman, either. All I know is what goes down on youporn, but those aren't like real women. I flinch every time I think of one of those long fingernails touching me in a tender place. And why do they spit so much? No thanks! But I think kissing another girl, you, would be nice. And maybe we could see where it goes from there." As she convinced Meg, she was convincing herself. Her hand was somehow on Meg's knee, and sliding higher, even as the bar goers around them began to chant: TEN...NINE....EIGHT. By the time the crowd reached three Josie had leaned in and caught Meg in an opened mouth kiss. She sipped at Meg's mouth briefly before delving deeper into the softness. Rubbing tongues, and then drawing back until their only their breath mingled. She drew back and waited for Meg to make the next move. Tucking her hair behind her ears, and looking dazed Meg whispered. "New year, new experiences, right? Let's go back to your hotel room." She was vibrating with barely leashed excitement. They ran through the city streets, Josie pulling Meg by the hand. The entered the lobby, shaking the drizzle from their hair. The stairwell was quiet. They climbed quickly until Meg stumbled a little, catching herself against the wall. She leaned back. Her lips parted. Josie figured this was her queue to move in. Being the aggressor was strange, especially since she'd never considered herself into women. But as soon as their lips touched, Josie knew that her body didn't discriminate. Kissing a woman was a wholly different experience from making out with a man. Her lips were buoyant, soft. Tasted of Bonnie Bell lip gloss. She let her tongue feather out a little bit; tease the corner of Meg's parted lips. Dart in. They both moaned. Soon they were fully engulfed in the kiss, rubbing against each other like attention starved cats. She liked the way Meg smelled and the little huffs of arousal. There were things that were different. Kissing someone shorter than herself, for one thing. And she didn't know where to put her hands. Josie settled on her hips, pulling them into her. No erection to grind against. She settled for a thigh. "Almost to my room," she whispered breathlessly. "Think we can make it?" They set off again, making it to room 307 at last. The door opened to a dark room. They moved inside and stood uncertainly in the entryway. "What do we do now?" Meg mused. "I think we should take our clothes off," Josie offered decisively. Meg turned big eyes on her, shining in the moonlight filtering through the light curtains. "Would you be into that? I thought you were just humoring me." "Well, I'm pretty turned on. I was close to dry humping you in the hallway. If we are going to do this, we might as well DO THIS." "Yes," breathed her soon to be lover. She began shrugging out of her outerwear, casting it over the lone chair in the corner of the room. Josie moved to the bathroom and flipped on the light. It was too bright and abrasive, exactly what she didn't want. But she wanted some illumination, so she partially closed the door and let a line of light spill across the queen bed. Meg was pulling off the comforter and blankets. Apparently there was going to be a lot of writhing, coverings would only get in the way. "Do you need help with your zipper?" Meg nodded and Josie came up behind her, braced a hand on her hip, and then used the other to slowly pull the zipper down. No bra. A white vee of smooth back glinted from between the dress halves. They both paused for a moment. Josie wanted this fantasy to be everything her little friend desired, so again she took the lead. She slid her hands into the dress, around her small rib cage, and cupped Meg's naked breasts from behind. And, holy shit was it hot. She could feel her nipples puckered against her palms. Small breasts with fairly big tips. She carefully weighed them letting her fingers stroke the undersides without brushing the straining centers. Women were different from men, they knew about anticipation. Leaning forward, Josie pressed her lips against the wing of Meg's shoulder, sucking and kissing lightly up to her neck. Meg tossed her head to move her wispy hair and Josie took the hint, moving her ministrations to her neck and ear. Meg was squirming already. Pulling her hands out, Josie tugged on the dress, pulling it down to puddle on the floor. Meg was wearing stockings with a sexy seam up the back and some lacy white panties underneath. Her heart kicked up and she felt her own panties get damp. Still fully clad herself, she rubbed her scratchy shirt against Meg's back, and then boldly dropped her hand down to Meg's belly. It rippled. Meg mewled. "Do you like that?" Josie asked, knowing damn well she did. Her little bird was all but trembling with excitement, body taut as a bow. "Yes, please, more. Keep going." Meg begged, voice cracking. Josie obliged, dipping down even further to the front of her panties. She couldn't see them, but she could feel the small swath of fabric that covered a hot little inferno of a pussy. She ran her fingertips up and down, just lightly. She pressed, she retreated. Meg was panting now. Josie reluctantly pulled her fingers away, surprised at how sexy she suddenly found Meg's body. She had more exploring to do before she gave her an orgasm. And she had no qualms about making little Meg scream. She hoped she might get to scream, too. "Why are you stopping...?" Meg asked in a bewildered voice. Josie didn't answer, just pulled off her own gold top and tossed it atop Meg's clothes on the chair. "I need help with my boots," she told Meg. Of course she didn't, but the thought of having a handmaiden kneel at her feet was exciting. Meg turned around, her body caught in the shaft of light. Her boobs were probably an A cup and would probably have fit perfectly in a martini glass. The nipples that had seemed large from behind were a surprisingly dark red, the size of peperoni slices, with a raised center about the size of a dime. Her torso was short and her legs long and slender. From the neck up she still looked like a kindergarten teacher -- face almost make-up less and cute in an impish way. But coupled with the debauched image from the neck down...it was a contrast that Josie found to be a huge turn on. She sat down on the bed and extended a foot. "Pull, please." Meg smiled as she sauntered closer. She surprised Josie by turning around and throwing her leg over Josie's knees. Bending forward she grabbed the boot by the heel and toe, pulling it off slowly. As she raised the second leg, Josie also settled her hands on Meg's ass, squeezing her small butt softly as the second boot was removed. "Want me to take off your pants?" Meg inquired. "May as well." Josie reclined on the bed, feeling Meg's little fingers skim the waistband of her leggings. She lifted her hips so that they could be slid down, then off entirely. She stretched, letting Meg's eyes roam her strapless bra and matching underwear clad body. It wasn't perfect, but being with a woman actually seemed to take the pressure off. She felt more than comfortable with her slightly wide hips and old fashioned fluffy bush. Of course, Meg hadn't seen that yet. And it seemed like her new friend was focusing her curiosity on Josie's comparatively large breasts bound by the shiny black band bra. She licked her lips, uncertain but lusting. As she crawled forward, Josie bent her elbows behind herself an unclasped her own bra. She pulled it away slowly, rolling her shoulders back to better display her large breasts. She liked the contrast in their bodies. She liked the way Meg was looming over her, settling her slim calves outside Josie's hips. She sat, bumping their panty clad pussies together. But her attention was focused on the hypnotically swaying boobs in front of her. She touched them. Softly, reverently. Then more urgently. Resolution Loophole "You have really nice boobs," she complimented. "Can I...can I kiss them?" Josie urged her to do anything she wanted. Meg eased the band down and touched her naked orbs reverently. Moments later her mouth descended, drawing Josie's pink nipple into her mouth. Toying with it. Nibbling and releasing. Turning to the other. It was nice, but lighter than Josie preferred. She shifted, ready to demonstrate some of the tricks she'd learned. "Meg? Put your hands on the headboard behind me." Meg paused, reluctantly pulling away from her newfound obsession. "Like this?" she asked, awkwardly leaning forward, body stretched out diagonally above Josie. "Exactly like that. Now Don't. Move." She hoped Meg liked being told what to do as much as she did. The excited whimper above her was a good indication she did. Her pert little titties stood at rigid attention. They were so small and tender, appeared so lily white and innocent. A sexy spirit inside an unexpectedly demure body. Josie felt a need to conquer this sweet damsel. "Your nipples are like raspberries," she murmured, rising up to breathe on one. "Are they sweet like berries? I haven't tasted them yet." She breathed a misty cloud millimeters from the bud. "Yes! Yes!" cried Meg, trying to urge her chest down to Josie's face. "Ah, ah, keep your palms flat on the headboard," Josie admonished. She pressed open mouthed kisses along the underside of the small mounds. She teased a little longer before settling her mouth over the bundle of nerves and sucking. Biting. Letting the air cool one nipple as she moved to the other. Squeezing hard, flicking lightly. Driving Meg fucking wild. She was like a wild pony tethered to a fence. She jumped and quivered and huffed. Many times it seemed like she would bolt, but then she would catch herself and reapply her hands to the wall. Overwhelmed completely, in a way she probably never anticipated. Josie hadn't either. Who would have thought kissing lady boobs would make her so horny. She sort of wished there was a man here to take care of her. Her vagina felt hallow and she wished for something to fill it while she continued her ministrations. But this night was about Meg. The naïve little girl who was brave enough to seek out excitement. Josie let her hands wander to Meg's ass, rubbing in a friendly way before dipping in between her cheeks. She traced the center and decided that the nylons had to go, even if they were sexy. Starting at the waistband, she rolled them down and down. Soon they were around her legs, caught above the knee. Meg moved to lift her leg to get them off entirely, but Josie asked her to wait. "This is good. This is all I need right now." And she slipped her hands again onto Meg's behind, enjoying the abrasion of the ivory lace. They were kind of a bikini cut, modest. Josie pulled the sides up into her ass crack, making them into a G-string wedgie. She stroked the soft skin of her ass cheeks, never releasing the nipple she was attending. Soon her fingers slipped down to the dripping faucet at Meg's center. She pressed, rubbed. Meg released a warbling yell. Josie released her breast to concentrate fully on the throbbing lady parts under her fingers. Despite her boldness, she felt shy about delving fully into the chamber of secrets. So instead she kept on top of the panties, moving her hand to the front. With her fingers she used the rough lace fabric on all of Meg's tender inner walls. Her thumb pressed lightly on the Meg's little ignition switch, rolling in circles. Until Meg screamed. In fact, she came like a tropical storm. She tossed her hair wildly, arching and collapsing in terms. Palms still against the headboard. At the peak of her orgasm, Josie shimmied down her body and breathed a hot puff of breath against the center seam of her saturated underpants. "Ye...ye...yessssss," shuttered Meg, going limp as a rag doll against her. A few minutes went by. Meg seemed ridiculously replete. Boneless even. Josie shifted underneath the prone form. "Oh, my gosh," Meg whispered. "That was...so much better...than what I was imagining." Josie smiled, pleased. "Really? You're not just saying that?" Meg shook her head. "I can't believe that was your first time. First time, really?" "It was!" Josie proclaimed proudly. "And it was hot. You are hot. I had no idea." Meg drew back, shoving her bangs back against her damp forehead. "But what about you? I want to make you come, too." Josie had to smile. This was the difference between men and woman. A woman was a hostess, even while naked. "Are you sure you're up to conquering your fear of vagina?" "I'm not only over it, it would be my pleasure. And look," she wagged her short, rounded nails in front of Josie's face, "No dragon lady nails." "They look very clean. And nice cuticles." Josie said approvingly. "Thanks. I brushed my teeth, too." Meg smiled toothily and then let her tongue chase out and contour her upper lip. "I want to go down on you. Lay back." Her voice was so sweet. It wasn't quite the drill sergeant command that Josie preferred, but she still settled back. And shifted uncomfortably. Truthfully, she hadn't been given oral pleasure in years. Many years, and without even realizing it. She remembered how exposed and vulnerable she used to feel as her high school boyfriend held her legs wide and jammed his tongue inside of her. She knew instinctually Meg would have a different technique. She would be softer, probably all about the clit. If she could just relax and let it happen, it would probably be outstanding. Still, her body jumped as Meg removed her underwear and lightly brushed her pubic hair. "Tie my hands!" Josie blurted. "Maybe you can use your panty hose. Tie me up." If Meg thought this request was strange, she didn't give any indication. Face in shadow, she searched the bed until she found the black nylons. She loomed above Josie again, catching her willing wrists and binding them lightly. "Harder!" gasped Josie. "Make them secure, so I can relax." They were pulled firmly. There was no obvious place to tie them, so Meg deftly scooted them diagonally and guided her bound hands to the leg of the nightstand. "Hold on," she whispered. Josie was rapidly warming up again. She closed her eyes and relaxed through the intimacy. Relaxed under the tentative lapping and later, bolder probing. Meg used her fingers to rub circles at the top of her labia, sliding her clit around inside a hot, wet pocket without touching it directly. Eventually her fingers joined her tongue down below, the two longest filling Josie in the way she longed for, as she tugged against the makeshift bindings. She came, long and soft. Her body shook from the aftershocks, which continued until after Meg had stolen back up her body to press more open mouthed kisses to her breasts. "That was amazing," Josie praised a few minutes later as she rubbed circulation back into her wrists. "You are a natural. Sheila does not know what she missed tonight." Meg, swathed in the upper sheet from the bed, blushed. "Well, I'm glad she didn't show. I thought I was bi-curious. I'll be lucky not to go full on lesbian after that initiation. In fact, if you want to meet again..." Josie shook her head regretfully. "Not a good idea. This is a night out of time, if we tried to reproduce it we'd just be disappointed." At Meg's pout she leaned forward and tugged the sheet free. "But let's talk about it more in the shower..."